The shadows of wooden spoons dance as the candlelight flickers across them; a whirling troupe of cutlery soars in spirals through the air. At the centre of it all, lit in pale red, lies a purple unicorn, still asleep and far from home.
"Princess. What shall we do?"
"Hath hospitality been forgotten? She hungers; therefore, prepare a meal," Luna decrees. "Allow her my chambers for the night."
As guards bustle, Twilight speaks, her tongue slurred by sleep. Princess.
"I fear I am not the princess thou art dreaming of," Luna says with a wan smile. Sometimes, she wishes she were.